e did not feel ourselves to be deserted children, we simply lay awake a little before rising and wondered how our father was faring on this last adventure, at once so spectacular and invisible. We were also very much interested in the sale of the portraits. This we looked forward to, though we liked them, for we assumed that when we were rich we would buy them back, and it was amusing to let our possessions go out into the world for a time and be admired. We longed for the excitement to begin, and the first thing after breakfast Mamma sat down and wrote a letter to Mr. Morpurgo, in which, a